


The Day He Became Mine

by theoraclespecialist



Series: Wishing Well [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Football, Love, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:43:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9905888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoraclespecialist/pseuds/theoraclespecialist
Summary: The wedding day of Dele Alli and Eric Dier.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the events of this story are actually based on story points from my other series, Floating into Our Wishing Well. That being said, you can totally enjoy this as an one-off, too. Please like/comment if you wish to do so; it would mean the world to me.

Somehow the reveal that Eric had been dating Dele was much more scandalous than his being gay in the first place. Dele had already taken the burden off him by being the first active player in the Premier League to come out so there was not too much to navigate in that respect yet the investigation into their own relationship was gruelling nonetheless. The media patted itself on the back for having their presumptions vindicated: headlines were written about them, paparazzi spent the first few weeks following them around, they were offered interviews every couple of days, it was all a bit too much but the club maintained their support, their friends stood by and a few months later, they were allowed to breathe, relax and operate like any other football player.

They failed to win the league the next year yet again but they were able to reach the quarter finals of Champions League. Dele performed exceptionally and earned unanimous acclaim yet they learnt that they were no match for a revitalized Barcelona who cleaned them off 4-0 in the first leg itself. However, their club struggles had to be left behind as they looked to prepare for England’s showcase in Russia. Seeing as how their recent international friendlies had resulted in draws or unsatisfying wins, they were not too keen on their fixtures. But like Tottenham, they were able to surprise the most apprehensive of critics to claw their way to the quarter-finals, where they were once again knocked out by France, courtesy of a few headers by Giroud and Griezmann.

They wiped their tears off, shook their bodies straight and lifted their heads up: life had to go on. And thankfully, the boys responded to their heartbreak in a deafening manner as they swept through the wins for the 2018/2019 Premier League season. Their title challenge for the season was not unmistakeably concrete and consistently robust. Harry piled up 15 goals by January before he was injured in an ugly clash with Watford but to everyone’s delight, Sonny did well to sustain their goal scoring antics. They had been through this experience before so they knew they couldn’t afford to be complacent; every game had to be seen through the end. Manchester City was proving to be solid competitors who threatened every week to close the 3-point lead that Tottenham possessed. By April, Eric was subject to a feeling in the gut, an uneasy feeling that he knew he had to act on before he imploded. It had somewhat to do with their title challenge, but more to do with his evolving relationship with Dele.

Eric proposed to Dele on his 23rd birthday. He knew that he wanted to do it in front of their families and friends so he insisted on arranging the birthday dinner for his boyfriend. The only people who knew of his plan were Poch and his Mum, both of whom granted their absolute blessings. The rest, including the players, their siblings and all their close ones, were unaware of Eric’s intentions. Few of the guests welled up with Eric as he articulated his emotional speech. Dele was also in tears as he said yes. Then Kyle jumped on both their backs and turned up the music.

They won the league that year and got married in the summer. It seemed inevitable by then. Too much love existed between them to not be carried over to the highest limit possible, which, in legal terms, meant marriage. Eric knew from the day he moved to Portugal that he would be exchanging his wedding bows at a beach in Algarve, the only difference being that he had imagined it with another woman. That being said, everything else about the day was unbelievably flawless.

The night before the wedding, although they were supposed to not see each other and were to sleep in separate rooms, Eric texted Dele and asked him at the beach. Dele had to be careful; Kyle had warned him that if he caught Dele in any position he deemed suspect, he would lock Dele up in the room himself. Dele pulled over the hood of his sweatshirt and tiptoed across the hall. He could hear the noise from the room at the end of the hallway, where the boys were occupied in a competitive card game, coupled with alcohol, loud music and the occasional singing. Sonny’s laugh was the last thing he heard as he disappeared into the elevator.

The hotel, in general, was teeming with the members of their wedding party. Not only were the entire Tottenham Hotspur staff and their significant others invited, Dele and Eric’s friends, families, old teammates had all willingly carried themselves through the flight to this destination wedding. Dele had initially wanted a small wedding but he knew that he would only be getting married once; there was no point in doing it if the closest people to him and Eric weren’t allowed to witness it.

On his way, Dele passed a group of ladies, including Eric’s sisters and the lads’ wives, sipping wine and gossiping in the garden. He spotted Harry Hickford flirting with one of Eric’s old friends from Lisbon at the bar. At the edge of the swimming pool, Toby and his pregnant wife were taking photos. The beach was understandably dark at such a time, yet the lights flaring from the resort illuminated Eric’s figure splayed on the sand.

Though he knew he was out of sight, he kept his hoodie on, liking the anonymity and the warmth. Eric felt his presence looming in yet he watched the waves of the sea curl up against the shore. They could hear faint music emanating it from the lounge but it was just the two of them and the awakened ocean.

“We should be sleeping,” Dele said, as he plopped down next to Eric.

Eric grinned and shook his head. He was also dressed in casual attire: a baggy hoodie, sweatpants and bathroom slippers. Dele found it refreshing that despite everything they had been through and the colossal celebration of an event they had arranged for the most significant day of their lives, they were just two lads, chilling.

“I couldn’t, if I tried,” admitted Eric. Slowly, he extended his right hand and placed it flat on Dele’s shoulder. Dele watched Eric’s hand before taking it in his own. “I keep thinking about the past,”

“Anything in particular?”

Eric laughed and then cleared his throat. “Yes, June 27th, Allianze...”

Dele shoved Eric’s approaching face away and shook his head, his mouth giving away to a reluctant laugh. “You wanna get yourself killed?”

“No, no, I mean it...”

Eric was referring to the night England lost to Iceland 2-1 during their Euro 2016 campaign. It was a night of embarrassment, disgrace, pain and disappointment, one they wouldn’t be able to remove from their memories despite their avid efforts. It was also the night in which Eric made his feelings for Dele by kissing him in his hotel room in consolation. Dele made _his_ feelings known by returning the kiss wholeheartedly.

“You’re wondering if England hadn’t lost that game, we wouldn’t be where we are today,” By now, Dele had become familiar with Eric’s thinking process, as it followed the same patterns of his own. He leaned closer to Eric, grabbing his hand again, and rested his head on Eric’s shoulders. Eric stabilized Dele’s head on his shoulder by running his hand down it softly. “I don’t know, Eric...but I think we’d have found each other anyways. I think it’s not just destiny that paired us up together, we did our own part to make this happen,”

“You sound like a whack poet, Delboy,”

“Who’s the one who was introspecting on the beach again?” Dele teased. He pulled out his phone from his pocket. “You know, I just found this on the internet the other day. It’s not one of our best ones...” he warned as he flicked through his gallery. “But it kinda stuck with me,”

The photo was of Dele and Eric making their England debut at the same time. Eric smiled down at it, as he kissed Dele’s forehead. “A bit surreal, innit? Two players getting subbed in for a random friendly end up getting married to each other,” commented Eric. The two basked in the quiet of the beach for a bit longer, perusing through old photos of themselves and their teams before Eric pulled away from Dele. “The reason I called you down is because...I have something to give to you,”

“It can’t be a pregnancy test, mate,”

Eric smirked. “Don’t be too sure,”

He fished out something from under his hoodie and passed it on to Dele. Dele squinted down at this bundle of cloth and upon unfolding it; he realized that it was an old pair of track pants. _His_ pants, as he read the number 20 stitched near the waistband.

“Dier, dier...you did not!” Dele stared down at the pants in wonder, their sight invoking a whole world of memories. “You’ve had them the whole time?!”

“I just forgot to return it,”

“God knows what you did with it,”

Eric laughed, in that husky, untroubled but self-conscious way. “Relax, I just cuddled with it when I missed you,”

“You’re such a baby,”

Dele brought Eric’s face closer to his face and attempted to slam forward for a kiss before Eric nudged him off. “Not until tomorrow. Strict orders,”

Dele clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I’m going to murder you tomorrow,”

“We’ll see, Delboy. We’ll see,”

 

 

Eric’s mouth dried up when he opened his windows to a parade of clouds in the morning. At the garden that overlooked the beach, they had already begun setting up the venue. He thought to go over there himself and help his brothers and friends in moving furniture around but Franny insisted that he take it easy on the day of his wedding. She had organized the whole wedding, from the invitations to the flowers to the catering service; he’d have to be incredibly stupid to dare to defy her on this spectacular day.

At noon, as a number of people swarmed into his room to help him get dressed, he began to feel the pit in his stomach. It was sickening yet exhilarating. His fingers shook as he texted Dele. He wondered whether it was a natural feeling or that he was particularly terrified of what was coming ahead.

“I suggest you put that aside,” Sabrina, Chris’s girlfriend, was hovering over him, her spry fingers thumbing through his hair. On the basis of keeping their wedding as intimate as possible, they hired their family and friends for jobs they would have paid professionals. But she was no less professional in terms of hairdressing. In an hour, she had managed to transform Eric’s hair from matted skinhead to styled gentleman. “You’re only going to make yourself more nervous,”

“Absolutely,” Chris agreed as he snatched Eric’s phone from his hand. “No distractions today,”

Eric protested but Sabrina shushed him, keeping his head stiff in her hand as she combed through the last chunks. But by then, his knees were rattling. “Mate, what’s gotten into you?” said Ross, leaning on the wall. “Am I talking to the vice-captain of England or what?”

“Give him a break,” Stonesy grinned. “If he can go through our games with a calm head, then he’s got the right to freak about a wedding. At least the wedding will go one way,”

“Hey, hey, no England talk!” Kyle announced, glaring at the two boys giggling in unison. “Eric, think about the honeymoon. The martinis, the music, the boats...”

Sabrina shook her head as she stepped back from Eric’s head. “You boys have too much,” She examined its shape and nodded in approval, before turning back to the circle of boys. “Who’s next?”

Eric stood up and Ross took his place. Eric lumbered over to the window to inspect the weather yet again, his heart sinking at the darkening clouds. Jan followed to him to the corner and drew the curtains back. Eric looked at him questioningly. “Eric, we know you. You’re going to find excuses to worry. This is classic Eric,”

Before Eric could come up with a counter, Toby appeared behind Jan. “No, no, classic Eric would get married no matter. Classic Eric would walk through rain, get his shoes dirty, his hair wet just to say yes to his boy,”

Jan agreed. “Of course. Don’t remember our game in Madrid in February? One man down, heavy rain, tackles left and right but Eric said, we don’t let Ronaldo steal our lunch. We do it, because we have to,”

Eric grinned, his heart swelling up with pride for their performance in the round of 16 early in the year. That was Tottenham at their best: lovely crosses, dazzling tackles, a wonder goal from Mousa, the game displayed everything Tottenham were capable of. Their 3-1 victory against Real Madrid wasn’t a fluke; it was the epitome of their title-winning season in which they defied all expectations to come out on top.

The door to the room blasted open and Sonny rushed in. Unlike most of the boys who opted for classic black suits, Sonny adorned himself in a jolly light blue suit. Not only did it make him look somewhat eccentric, he had grown his hair into a topknot, solidifying him as the odd figure in all the photos that were being taken today. “Where is main man?” he shouted into the room, before he was pointed to the corner where Eric and the Belgians lingered.

“Wow, Eric, looking good!” His eyes widened at the sight of a clean-cut Eric leaning against the wall, his chiselled body contained in the suit he and his dad picked from a designer store in West London. Sonny did his customary handshakes with the boys and then nodded mischievously. “Dele also looks...” he was interrupted by Jan’s elbow into his arm. “Dele also looks...good like you will see in a short time,” he said.

“Harry took this photo, see,” Sonny pulled out his phone to show Jan and Toby what Dele looked like but before Eric could stretch his head forward, Sonny turned off his phone and shoved it into his pocket. Kyle joined their Spurs huddle and sized up Eric, impressed. “I’m sure all the gay men in the world are getting their hearts broken tonight,”

“Don’t forget the ladies,” added Eric jokingly.

They held their conversations for a bit before the front door opened yet again and Franny jogged in, letting everyone know that they had ten minutes to get themselves seated. The boys buttoned their coats and began filtering out of the room. Kyle lingered behind and leaned closer to Eric. “I know it’s a bit scary, so here...” He grabbed a flask out of his blazer and offered it forward. “Trust me, it can take the edge off,”

Eric took a few sips and though it did not immediately work, he could feel his muscles relaxing, his heart beating slower. Everyone had exited the room except Maria, who sashayed towards Eric. She reached for a tight embrace and kissed him on the cheek. She looked gorgeous in a white satin dress, her gorgeous locks curling down as animatedly as they usually did.

Eric held onto her shoulders and eyed her ruefully. “I know this was supposed to be you,”

A shadow of sadness still haunted her smile, as it had from the day he told her that he might be falling in love with Dele. But she bit her lip and pressed Eric’s cheek. “No,” she refused. “This was always supposed to be Dele,”

“I’m not worthy of you,”

“No, you’re not,” she concurred. “But Dele is, of you. Promise me that you will be a better husband to him than you were a boyfriend to me,”

“I promise,”

She smiled yet again, even though Eric could see her eyes glistening. She reached forward and kissed him on the lips. Eric chuckled; any notion of romance had long left their relationship but the physical remnants still appeared and disappeared every now and then. “I love Eric Dier, Eric Dier loves me...” she sang as she walked away from him.

The ceremony itself transpired as impeccably as he could have hoped. Rain did not taint their moment but as Eric gazed at Dele being walked down the aisle by Pochettino, he was certain nothing would _ever_ taint their moment. Dele tapped Eric’s hand and grinned expectantly. And they both turned to their wedding officiant.

Once Wayne Rooney gauged the readiness of the guests, he cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentleman, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joyful union of two of the most incredible boy...or should I say, men I’ve gotten to know in my life. Dele Alli and Eric Dier, they are the real deal. In the years they have been together, not only have they brought success and happiness to their teams, namely Tottenham and England, but they have become examples to all of us on how to love, support and commit to the people around us,”

“No other human ties are more tender and no other vows more important than those you are about to take. Both of you come to this day with the deep realization that the contract of marriage is sacred as are all of its obligations and responsibilities...”

The words failed to register into Eric’s head, as his mind was awash with memories, both ugly and beautiful. His debut in which he scored a last-minute winner versus West Ham United. Their 4-1 dismantling of Manchester City during the 15/16 season. Their flight to France during their first international tournament. The time they broke Chelsea’s winning run. Their 5-1 plundering of Manchester United in Old Trafford. Dele doing cartwheels in celebration of one of his many goals in the 15/16 season. Eric’s last minute header against Germany. Dele’s full lips when they kissed in the car. The rain splattering against the window when Eric orally pleasured Dele for the first time. His sweaty palms when he held out a ring to Dele. Dele’s weight on his shoulders as he flung onto a piggyback. Dele kissing him in front of a booming crowd in White Hart Lane. The red cards. All of them. The times in which they held hands through the paparazzi’s flash of lights.

He looked over at Dele and wondered how he managed to go through the first twenty one years of his life without him. He filled such a profound hole in his life that he couldn’t imagine a time in his life in which he wasn’t able to wake up next to Dele every day, kiss him when he thought he looked cute, hold his hand without shame or fear and be able to call him his boyfriend. Dele was his life and today was a reaffirmation of that fact.

“Do you, Eric Dier, accept Dele Alli as your husband and one true love, promising to share in all that life offers and suffers, to be there for him in times of need, to soothe him in times of pain, and to support him in all endeavours, big and small?”

Eric tried to be resolute, not let the flurry of emotions bubbling underneath break through. “I do,”

"Do you, Dele Alli, accept  Eric Dier as your husband and one true love, promising to share in all that life offers and suffers, to be there for him in times of need, to soothe him in times of pain, and to support him in all endeavours, big and small?”

“I do,” Dele did not even bothering disguising his emotions, his tears were flowing restfully down his cheeks.

Wayne smiled. “By the power vested in me by some admittedly shady website on the internet, I now pronounce you husbands for life. Kiss ahead, lads,”

Eric could confirm that their first kiss as husbands did not feel particularly pleasurable from any of their other kisses but it truly felt like it belonged to them. It felt like it could last, from minutes to hours to decades to centuries. That they would freeze in time and this kiss could hold them in union, so they could be immortalized as one, not two. The crowd exploded into a round of applause and cheers as Eric enveloped his body into Dele’s and felt what it meant to hold, not his teammate, not his friend, not his boyfriend but his husband. His husband.

 

 

The reception was just the classic, boisterous, playful affair that could be expected of a party that included the boys from England, the boys from Spurs and the entire Dier clan. Great-Uncle Martin was only into his third glass of whiskey when he jiggled into the dance floor and starting breaking into moves with Danny. Ivy Jane Kane had taken a liking to Millie and the two were running all over the place with Jan and Mousa’s children. Sturridge had gotten Smalling, Stones and Raheem to take shots of tequila at the bar.

The grooms sat at a table at which they could behold the action unfolding before them. Eric was nibbling away at the cake while Dele licked the popcorn dust off his fingers. Eric shook his head at Dele. “I can’t believe you’re eating sweet popcorn at our wedding,”

“Wanker,” He slapped Eric on the head. “Dier, dier, pants on fire. Don’t fake disgust when you were the one who told Franny to put it into the menu,”

Eric grit his teeth. “I can’t believe she told you,”

“No shame in telling me that you love me, eh?”

“I’ve no shame. I just did a wedding to tell you that, didn’t I?” Eric pointed out, taking a bitter bite out of his cake.

“Did a wedding...” Dele repeated curiously. “Sounds a bit off, dunnit?”

“As off as getting married to you, but...happens,”

Before Dele could respond, H strode over to the pair and took a seat next to them. Dele rolled his eyes and teased Harry, “You’re not allowed to sit with the grooms. Um, didn’t you get the memo?” he mocked in an American Valley Girl accent.

Harry laughed. “I just lost a tenner with Walks. He said that you lot would be getting married by 2019, I said it was going to take place at least after one of you got retired,”

“Jesus, you lads were planning ahead, weren’t you?” Eric remarked.

“Oh yeah. We made the bet in 2016, right after our victory in Berlin,” Harry said.

“But we didn’t even get together on...”

“Yeah, we knew,” Harry grinned. “By the way, this is a stupid question and I’m not homophobic or anything for asking...”

Dele wrinkled his forehead. “Go on,”

“But are you boys going to take each other’s names or something? Hyphenate or some shite?”

Dele laughed and turned to Eric, resting his hand above Eric’s. “Nope. No hyphens required. I was never an Alli, it doesn’t make sense to keep it when I have such a wonderful chance to get rid of it,”

“So what’s it gonna be?”

Eric laughed. “You’re looking at Dele Dier, H. Dele Dier of Tottenham Hotspur,”

 

 

_“I don’t think you can look for love. I think it finds you”_

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave prompts in the comments if you like my writing style and want me to explore other aspects of this relationship. I'm open to doing anything! Furthermore, find me on Tumblr: http://sodetectivegalaxy.tumblr if you want to talk football, this particular ship or anything in general. I love writing and hope to continue!


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